When your book is out in the world
you start seeing people actually reading it.
One of your old professors rates your book
on Goodreads. It’s actually real. A physical thing
taking up space on people’s bookshelves
or weighing down their backpacks.
Maybe people will read it on the Metro
or a road trip. Maybe they’ll put bookmarks
inside of it, dogear its pages, underline
a favorite line. Make it feel read.
So, if you couldn’t tell, I’m still having trouble processing that my book is real and out there in the world. That’s why I had to write a poem about it. People are buying it, reading it. That’s all a writer could ever hope for.